Wasteland
by TehUnoman
Summary: The Demon's blood boils, the Judge's Karmic Retribution awaits, the Institute is doomed from the start.
1. Wasteland: 1-00

**Oh noes! I'm writing something OTHER than Terra Hunter! Whatever shall I do?**

 **...I blame myself for not being on the ball for that one. Plus, I got stuck on a block for one particular interaction in 1-06, so writing this particular thing will probably help in that fashion.**

 **So! What is this, exactly? This is obviously a Fallout and Undertale Crossover. Sure, the happy feels that one can find in the other crossovers are noted. But! I feel as though there's a tiny bit too much of that bullshit. As such, this comes to fruition.**

 **Which reminds me...what Fallout game will I be using? For this particular story, 4 will have elements that I need that 3 and NV do not have. So, Fallout 4 will be used; those that don't like that, don't read. I'm not forcing it upon anyone to read this.**

 **Same goes for those expecting a happy story. This...will be very, very somber and depressing. It will have elements of Undertale, such as the characters, and maybe a few other things – characters that can change their form when they're near death will be allowed – but after that...they had best get used to the Wasteland. Oh, who am I kidding? No one gets used to the Commonwealth Wasteland, even after numerous playthroughs.**

 **I'll make this cleared up for the characters involved: The Survivor will encounter the main perspectives I have in mind at a later date. Age-wise, Frisk is 16, and is female. Chara is 25, is male, and is related to Frisk – brother and sister. Sans is 31, and Papyrus is 24. Any side-based characters that are only introduced for a few chapters will not be given an age.**

 **Full stats of the main characters involved will be noted on my profile, with the exception of the Survivor. If I receive a message asking about the stats, I'll have the Combine fanboy come to your house and kick your dick. Then, I'll tell you to LOOK AT THE PROFILE FOR THEIR STATS!**

 **...sorry. Just have to make that clear.**

 **Undertale and the content involved is owned by Toby Fox.**

 **Fallout is owned by Bethesda.**

* * *

 _War…_

 _War never changes…_

* * *

If you were to tell me that I'd be running all over the Commonwealth a few years earlier with an asshole as a companion, hunting for the abductors of my sister and his brother, while killing off Raiders, Super Mutants, Deathclaws, and the occasional irradiated insect, and teaming up with someone that happens to be over 200 years old to take down said abductors, I would ask you where you got your chems from first. Then, I'd beat you into a bloody pulp for even suggesting that my sister would get kidnapped in the first place, and suggesting that I'd ever team up with Sans.

Now, however, as I'm looking over the Commonwealth on the top of the Mass Fusion building with that skeleton, my sister, his brother, and the Sole Survivor, I would still ask for those chems, but I would also buy you a drink. Because I knew what was about to happen next.

That button in front of the Survivor? It was a detonator to a nuclear bomb, inside the headquarters of the abductors. Everything was set in place, everyone was right where they were needed to be. All they needed to do was the simplest of tasks, but the biggest decisions of their lives: Push the button.

The moment they did, I felt the earth tremble with foreign energy. A flash of white light, and a large explosion reached our ears. The winds were shoved back. Violently. As I watched, a large mushroom cloud rose up to the heavens, massive amounts of fire swirling in the smoke.

The Survivor's Pip-Boy was listening to the Classic Radio station, and it...cut out the moment the bomb went off. Just like that...the Institute was no more.

"...Wow..." was what the flower said in the pot I was carrying.

Oh yeah, I suppose I should explain from the beginning, right?

Well, it all started when a Brahmin fell onto a rooftop…

* * *

 **So let's begin with the simple shit, yeah?**

 **The Institute is going to fall, that much is confirmed. Now, what about the other factions? Not saying a single word about that until the important parts come up during the storyline.**

 **Updates for this story will be a lot more spotty than the updates for Terra Hunter – when I get out of the writer's block there – so be patient. This will take some time to write, as I plan on making this story a lot larger than you might think.**

 **The main focus will be on Chara and Sans. Which reminds me, in this story, Sans' real name is an alias in Fallout, as such, he'll be called Lance Keleton officially, while Papyrus' will be Archer Keleton. They may be skeletons, but calling someone by their name, being a font, is weird, and having it as a nickname instead works better.**

 **Both of their stats and perks are available on my profile page. If you don't like them, too bad. I set them up on how I think they would fit in the Fallout universe, and utilized what I could use from there.**

 **So, the inspiration behind this story is of an idea that an amazing artist on DeviantArt and myself somewhat created together. I made the idea, while they ended up putting an image to the idea. The reception behind the image was received extremely well, and I figured to make the story behind the image. So, that being said, huge shoutout to tekitourabbit! They make wonderful Undertale fanart, so go check them out after reading this.**


	2. Wasteland: 1-01

Ok, you might be wondering; how can I, a non-existent child that successfully killed off an entire timeline, know about Brahmin? Well, I'll start with the last run Frisk – my sister, as I've now considered her to be – completed as a pacifist, and go before that. Sans, the 'comedian,' as I've gotten used to calling him at this point, had me sit down and began talking about consequences and the like, before I stopped him by saying that he's killed Frisk more times than I have killed him with one hand alone. Then, I told him that if he wanted her to live, he'd have to not stand in the way.

Obviously, things didn't go smoothly after that statement. I think I told him to consider his actions as well after the...57th kill? It made him pause, which gave me an opportunity to talk, and make an offer.

It went like this: I wouldn't kill anyone in the next run, and let my sister obtain the True Ending. And, after that, wouldn't go after anyone when it was all over. In return, he'd have to actually make himself more prevalent in certain situations. It was a double-edged sword for both of us, but it was more beneficial to the comedian's side instead of mine. And, if there is one thing I am, no matter what run Frisk chooses to take, it's that I am honorable to all deals I make.

Now, we stand, watching the sunrise at the end of the game. The comedian looks over to me, and nods. He kept his end of the bargain, and now I have to keep mine until the end. How quaint; my own deal keeps me from murder. But it doesn't mean I can't fight anyone. Ah, loopholes in deals are always fun to figure out; it turns out that it saved my sister more times than I can count.

But, six months in the ending, something went...awry. I couldn't tell what happened, but I knew it had something to do with that dream…

Oh, right. What was the dream, exactly? Well, here's what happened:

 _Dreamscape_

I awoke with a start, and felt uneasy. It wasn't the body I shared with Frisk, oddly enough, and moved around to get more comfortable-

Wait.

 _I_ moved?

Looking down – which confirmed my suspicions – I found myself wearing my old clothes; a yellow-striped green sweater, brown shorts and boots. It felt surreal. Why do I have control again?

"Frisk?" I called out, very concerned about my partner's well-being.

No answer. Panic – an emotion I normally never felt – began setting in.

"Frisk?!" I called out again, looking around the place I was currently standing hurriedly – I wonder if Gaster designed the place? Reminds me of the Void.

*snore*

...oh.

"...Dog, damnit, Frisk! Don't do that to me!" I chided them.

"Arf!"

...what?

I turned around in the blank space, and found something...unusual. A dog, a white one at that, was sitting at a table, drinking something with it's paw. It looked like...Toby?

"...well, I wouldn't put it past Frisk to come up with something like this in the middle of his sleep..." I muttered. My red eyes widened in worry as I heard heavy footfalls resonate throughout the Void, the sound of metal and hydraulics echoing with each step.

"My apologies, Mr. Fox," a voice said, sounding slightly synthetic, but definitely human. "It appears as though I was detained by the laws of both our worlds."

"Arf!" the dog barked. Can everyone speak dog nowadays?

"Well, I'm glad you found a medium we can utilize." Good news is, I found the figure to place the voice; a massive, steel-plated suit of Dog-knows what. A large chestplate, thick greaves and boots, gauntlets and pauldrons, and a domed helmet mixed with a gas mask of similar plating, tubes entering/exiting from the mask, and piercing eyes.

I couldn't move. Fear was something I couldn't feel on a standard day, but that imposing figure...if I ever went up against something like that, I don't think I could win.

"Arf?"

"Nothing for me, thank you for offering," the armored figure replied. Then, they sat in a chair too small for them. It was comical, and something the Comedian would want to recreate if he ever saw this.

"Now, I believe we should skip the pleasantries and get to business," they stated. "You wanted something from me, right? What was it, exactly, that you desire from my world? It's mostly a wasteland, after all."

A wasteland? What in Dog's name is this...thing talking about?

"Arf!"

"...Are you absolutely certain of this? Once you receive it, you won't be able to receive any of your pieces until one of the criteria has been met," the armor replied. "I will not hold it against you, should you decline."

"ARF!" the dog barked loudly, slamming its paw onto the table.

I heard the figure sigh; odds are, they aren't liking what they're doing.

"Very well, with your will on this path... **it shall be done.** "

There's the uneasy feeling again, but I now know the source: I overheard too much.

" **That you did.** "

They were looking straight at me.

THEY KNOW I'M HERE!

" **It's rude to listen in on a conversation that doesn't concern you...** " they began, pulling out a strange gun. " **...and you must pay the price.** " A stream of green energy flew out of three prongs, heading straight for me.

But before it hit me, I was back in Frisk's room.

Back in her body.

Safe…

So why was I shaking so damn much?!

"*Chara, are you OK? You're trembling.*" Frisk 'said.' She can speak, but she tends to use sign language in calmer situations.

"...Yeah, I'm fine...Just a bad dream, is all..." I told her.

Thinking back on it now...that will forever be the number one lie I will ever utter to anyone.

 _Ten years later…_

It was a cycle nowadays, in the Commonwealth. We woke up, we got what we could from the groundwater, farmed, and protected our little home. Just Frisk and myself, two sets of hands working together for survival.

We lived nearby the Abernanthy's Ranch, a family of three plus a friend of theirs, farming melons and tatos. They were kind enough to give us a few seeds and materials to build ourselves a small shack and farm of our own. Frisk was the main communicator between the two of us, yet I can hold a decent conversation of my own in case she couldn't make it to their place. It didn't happen often, but when it did, I left thirty minutes early to ensure her safety.

I honestly don't know what I would do without her companionship. I still consider her my sister, and would protect her like a brother should.

Over the years, my attire changed. I began scrounging nearby fallen cities and Raider camps for supplies and other valuables. After I returned each time, I was scolded by my darling sister Frisk for being so daring. However, every time, my haul made her quiet, and during Those days, we managed to survive. In between scavenging/thieving, farming, and the like, it didn't leave much time for other activities; I bid my time, however, and worked on large pieces of harvested leather my sister skinned off of Brahmin, a mutated, two-headed cow that was one of the biggest sources of milk, meat, and leather, and Radstags, another mutated animal that was more cowardly than a Whimsun will ever be.

The first time I saw her drag in a dead Brahmin, I was quite shocked. Even moreso when I was told she did that on her own terms.

Nowadays, I'm thankful for what Frisk's able to do: I have always viewed her as a diehard Pacifist, and will always try to do whatever it takes to disarm and pacify all enemies peacefully. That mindset somewhat rubbed off on me, as I left my theft victims alive more often – stealing from those asleep helped matters – but was more than willing to kill to get what I need. But I can only assume that the Commonwealth – and, in retrospect, the entire planet – hardened her, and made decisions that were almost inconsiderable, a last resort.

I remember her first kill. And I don't mean the killing of an animal…

 _Eight years earlier…_

We were struggling to get a full crop functioning. Frisk is still uneasy over killing the Brahmin and Radstags for food. I told her that old motto of 'Kill of BE Killed,' but then added, 'Is an irradiated animal's life more important than your own?'

That seemed to have done the trick. She still apologizes for each one she kills, though, so I'll take what I can get.

I don't intend for her to become me. If ANYTHING, I want her to at least live with as much innocence as humanely possible. She's too pure, and too kind for this world. It'll chew her up and spit her out, leaving behind what's left for the maggots.

I'll break every bone in their body if they ever lash out any touch of malice against my sister.

My sister…

Heh. I am getting soft.

"CHARA, HELP!"

Frisk?!

I jumped up, my modified 10mm at the ready. Not the optimal weapon of choice for my standards, but it does a good job. I rush inside the shack, and almost lost it.

My sister, held up at knifepoint by a scavver. Another one stood next to the first, gun pointed at me. I was quicker than the second one, in terms of reaction times.

I pulled the trigger, and dispatched the second scavver. The first lunged at me, his knife hovering over my eye. By sheer luck, I managed to keep it at arm's distance with my left hand. My right was currently pinned, and I couldn't get him off. He was too heavy.

Because of a bleeding effect back in the Underground, some of my acquired LV points managed to imprint onto my SOUL, and boosted my already formidable strength. But I was losing this fight; I needed a way to-

*BANG!*

And the scavver dropped like a fly. I shoved his corpse off of me, and looked around. I didn't shoot my gun, as it was pinned to the floor. And the only one left was…

My eyes landed on Frisk. Who was holding a .38 Pipe Pistol. With a smoking barrel. Her hands were trembling, badly. She dropped the gun, and began sobbing. I got up and wrapped myself around her, and held her as my shirt became stained with her tears.

I wanted to say something, anything, just to try and calm her down, to get her spirits back up again. But I couldn't. There wasn't anything I could say.

There was nothing TO say.

She killed someone, and protected me in the process. Honestly, I felt grateful that she saved my life; yet, I felt more empty than I ever will in my lifetime.

Because she broke her vow. For me.

God, I felt like scum.

 _Eight years later…_

That is a day I don't like remembering.

Frisk thought that I was worth more than a vow she made.

...I'm worth even less than the bloatflies.

She should have just let the scavver kill me, or at least take my eye, and knock him out while he was distracted. It wouldn't have stained her hands as badly.

The lack of depth-perception would've been worth it.

Yet every time I mention that, she'd just hug me and tell me that I have pretty eyes, and they aren't worth being tarnished.

...I still can't tell if she's over it yet.

I know I'm not.


End file.
